Laying With the Enemy
by Resplendent Decadence
Summary: She'd left everything for him but couldn't live with her sins. He couldn't live without her and vowed to bring her back. But it's impossible to raise the dead, isn't it?
1. Prelude

Prelude

She sighed as she sat up, pulling the satin sheets with her to cover her bare chest. Moonlight streamed in through the huge bay windows on her left, casting a milky glow on her ivory skin. She glanced down at her still sleeping companion, admiring the way the moonlight made a sort of halo around his platinum blonde tresses. He was the most attractive man she had ever met, and not just when it came to his looks. To most people, he was cold and aloof but she knew that was just a façade. She had looked beyond the icy mask to see the passion that rested just below the surface. Somehow, he had become everything to her and it was tearing her apart.

This was never supposed to happen. She was not supposed to let him get this close. He was her enemy and stood for everything she hated. She used to hate him too but somehow her views had become distorted and suddenly she had not been able to make heads or tails of anything. Her whole world was in shambles because of one irresistible man. Why did she love him so much?

Slowly, so as not to disturb her slumbering partner, she stood and padded softly to the window to gaze out at the full moon. It was on a night like this when her enemy first became her lover. The full moon had been reflecting brightly off the smooth, glassy surface of the lake and the stars were shining more brightly than usual. They had been fighting, as usual, when their emotions simply boiled over and escalated into a night of passion on the soft grass.

Her whole life had changed after that night. She still hated everything he stood for but could not pull away from him no matter how hard she had tried. Her friends and family saw this change in her and slowly started to pull away, saying that she was a disgrace and if she were truly on their side then she would not be sleeping with the enemy. He was all she had left. So she did anything he asked of her just so he would stay by her side. She still hated herself for it.

She stood there in front of the windows, her nude body glowing softly in the pale light, like some goddess newly descended from the heavens, and let the tears she had kept locked away for so long to fall onto the plush carpet beneath her feet. Her stomach clenched as she thought back onto to all the things she had done just for him. She absently rubbed her arm where the ultimate sign of her own personal betrayal showed, the mark that forever severed her tie with everything and everyone she had ever loved and cherished. This could not continue any longer, she could not live this half life any more.

She turned and took one last, lingering look at the only man she had ever truly loved, the man who had become her ultimate downfall. Everything would end tonight and all she could think of was that she hoped he could forgive her for her newest and last betrayal. She turned and walked resolutely into the bathroom without looking back and slipped into the bathtub's warm water. The knife that was resting on the edge of the tub was quickly in her hands. The two deep slashes slowly turned the water red and her vision black.

* * *

Sunlight streamed in from the large bay window on his left, effectively waking him as it hit his eyelids. Draco Malfoy sat up and stretched happily. The previous night had been heaven, as was every night he spent with his beautiful lover. He looked down at the empty space beside him and smiled. She was probably already in the bath. He would have to join her soon.

Draco reached over the side of the bed and retrieved his discarded boxers, slipping them on as he stood. Today was going to be a wonderful day, today he was going to ask his lover to become his wife. Nothing could make him happier than to have her by his side forever. With this thought in mind he pulled a small box from his nightstand drawer. He wanted to propose right now. Quietly, he snuck into the bathroom, hoping to take her by surprise, but stopped in horror.

She floated lifelessly in the red water, her waist-length tresses spread out behind her, blending in with the water. He rushed forward and pulled her out of the tub, cradling her in his arms. The box with the engagement ring fell to the floor, forgotten. A ragged sob escaped his throat. The only woman he had ever loved was gone, destroyed by her own hand.

"Why love? Why did you do this? We had such a future ahead of us! Please come back Ginny… don't leave me alone…"

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It had been a couple of hours since he had initially discovered his love's lifeless body floating in their massive tub, crimson hair streaming out behind her like that of Shakespeare's tragic Ophelia. Draco stood motionless in front of the bay window, the afternoon sun casting his shadow over the lifeless body laid out reverently on the bed behind him. He would not allow things to end this way. He served the most powerful wizard of this day and age; there must be something his master could do to fix this. The Dark Lord should be able to bring her back from the dead. With that desperate hope fixed in the forefront of his mind he turned and gently scooped up the cold figure from the bed.

The apparition was more difficult than usual in light of his tumultuous emotional state. He landed in the foyer of Riddle Manor, almost dropping to his knees upon force of impact. The guards standing sentinel before the doors to Voldemort's main audience chamber eyed Draco nervously, noting the borderline insane desperation haunting his grey eyes and the lifeless figure in his arms. Draco straightened and walked resolutely towards the doors, silently commanding the men to open the way. The men did so with averted eyes.

Voldemort was sitting on his throne when Draco entered, idly thumbing through an ancient and crumbling text on dark potions and spells. He looked up, interest piqued as he noted the pale figure in his servant's arms. "What is this Draco," he questioned calmly as the young man came to stand before him.

"My Lord," he bowed low. "With the utmost respect I have come to implore you. I have been the loyalist of servants, doing all that you have ever bade me to do, and ask of you one favor." He held out Ginevra's lifeless figure as a supplicant would to an emperor. "Ginevra has also served you loyally but took her own life last eve. I know, in all of your power, you must have a way to bring back the dead. Please my Lord, restore her."

Voldemort stood and walked silently over to the young man, running one pale, spidery finger down the young woman's ice cold cheek. "Draco, you know as well as I that one cannot bring back the dead."

Draco frowned. "Perhaps not for most but surely it cannot be beyond you."

Voldemort sent him a calculating look, weighing just how desperate his young servant was. What he saw must have assured him for his next statement was cautious, almost contemplative in tone. "While it is true that magic cannot bring back the dead per se, the matter of raising them is a bit… different."

Hope rose fiercely in Draco's normally cold grey eyes, burning with an almost fanatical intensity. "My Lord, whatever that difference may be I don't care. If there is a way to bring her back I beg of you to do it."

A cold smile curled the edges of Voldemort's thin lips. Ah how impulsively foolish the emotion love makes people. Draco was playing right into his hands. "Very well. In reward for your services young Malfoy I will grant you this boon. Give her to me and I will do what needs to be done; you may return for her at the end of three nights."

Draco quickly handed over the body of his love and bowed in gratitude. "Thank you my Lord, thank you."

Voldemort nodded. "Remember, not until the end of three nights. Now go." Draco bowed once more and quickly exited. Voldemort gazed down onto the pale, lifeless features of Ginevra Weasley, a slightly maniacal grin on his face. He'd been looking for the perfect subject for his latest pet project and the young Malfoy heir had just handed one to him. The next few nights were sure to be… interesting at the very least.

***

The room was dark and smoky, lit only by thick, beeswax candles scattered about and the fire under the large cauldron simmering gently in the center of the chamber. Laid out on a scarred wooden table next to the cauldron was the body of Ginevra Weasley, her body nude with archaic symbols painted on her skin in blood. Voldemort stood at the head of the table, an ancient scroll in hand, and was adding numerous grotesque ingredients to the bubbling potion. The whole set up was contained within a circle, sealed with Voldemort's own blood and glowing an eerie hellish red. He skimmed the ingredients list one last time, ensuring he had added them all. A dark smile touched his mouth. It was ready.

He set the scroll aside and placed his hands on either side of the young woman's head, closing his scarlet eyes and began to chant in a harsh, guttural tongue, the likes of which had not been spoken for centuries. The boundaries of the circle flared as well as the blood runes decorated the deceased's body. From within the potion an indistinct form arose, a shadowy figure with iridescent eyes. Its gaze fixated on the corpse and a hungry glint entered its expression. It rose slowly from the cauldron and skimmed over to the table, running an insubstantial claw over the blood runes that were to serve as its anchor to this world. Voldemort opened his eyes and noted the demon, a blaze of triumph lighting his eyes. He drew an iron dagger from the sheath at his waist and, with his gaze locked with the demon's, drove it directly into the young woman's still heart.

An icy breeze whirled through the room in frenzy, a malicious scream of joy ripping through the room, and the demon plunged into the newly formed wound, causing the formally still corpse to jerk and convulse. Voldemort backed away slowly as the young woman's body continued to thrash buck, grinning insanely. It had worked. Now all that there was to do was wait until the demon had fully integrated with the body and girl's soul, which had remained trapped in light of her suicide. Though it took making a deal with an ancient and malicious demon, he, Lord Voldemort, had successfully raised the dead.

***

Draco paced impatiently before the door to Voldemort's main audience chamber, anxious for word of his lost love. He had waited the required three nights and was now at the end of his rope. Though he did not intend to doubt the powers and ability of his lord, part of him could not help but be convinced that nothing could have been done and she was truly gone for good. The thought cause a spiral of pain to rip through his chest, reopening the wound that hope had begun to scab over.

The sound of the chamber door opening had Draco whipping around and peering anxiously at the guard who stood just beyond the room's threshold; his face gave away nothing. "The Dark Lord will see you now." The guard abruptly turned on his heel and strode back into the dark room. Draco swallowed down the lump of nerves that had formed in his throat and quickly followed, the chamber doors closing slowly behind him.

The room was steeped in shadows and Draco found he could see no more than a foot or two beyond his face. Cautiously, he began to make his way toward the dais at the head of the room. As he drew before it he noted the still form of the Dark Lord seated upon his throne, his head turned to the side thus casting his features into profile. He seemed to be watching something off in the shadows. Draco stopped and bowed, coughing slightly to announce his presence.

Voldemort turned slightly, locking his blood red gaze upon the painfully hopeful young man before him. A slow, sinister smile played at the edge of his thin, flat lips. "Draco my boy, you're just in time."

Draco nodded. "I always strive to follow your instructions implicitly my lord," he stated carefully, attempting to not sound overly eager and impatient.

Voldemort chuckled, a dark sound void of any actual amusement. "Indeed. You are one of the most punctual of my followers." He paused, watching the tension in the young Malfoy heir build as he waited for news of his… beloved. "I suppose you wish to know if I have accomplished what I claimed I could, hm?"

Draco bit back the sharp retort that rose to his tongue. He had to remain cool and collected otherwise Voldemort would draw the process out even longer just to prolong Draco's misery. "If you please my lord."

Voldemort looked a tad disappointed at the lack of a stronger reaction before mentally shrugging it off. "Well you know what they say, actions speak louder than words." He turned once again to face the shadowy corner on his right. "Ginevra?"

Draco's heart seemed to literally stop as he watched a slender figure emerge from the dark alcove and slowly walk up to the throne. He struggled to breathe as the figure entered the small ring of torch light that encircled Voldemort, illuminating the features of his lost love. She was as flawless as ever, looking as if her death had never happened. He wanted to run up and sweep her into his arms, to carry her back to their home and promise her anything just so long as she would never leave him again. However, he stayed rooted to his spot, unable to do more than stare.

Voldemort stood and reached out a pale, skeletal hand towards the newly risen Ginevra; she placed her own small appendage in his in return. "You see the true extent of my power before you young Malfoy, look well and note that nothing is beyond my means." He slowly turned her to face Draco, a sinister smile etched upon his snake like features. "Well my dear, what have you to say to the man you love?"

Draco tensed as his silvery gaze locked with her golden amber one. She eyed him dispassionately, the expressive amber eyes he had loved so much curiously flat and empty, before shrugging and turning back to face Voldemort. "I do not know what it is you speak of, who is this man who stares at me so?"

It was with those flat, cold words that Draco's hear finally seemed to shatter. He stared up at the figure of Ginevra, mouth agape, and could not seem to articulate a word. Behind her, Voldemort began to laugh.


End file.
